


In vino veritas

by shanimalew



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alcohol, Dirty Talk, Insicure Illya, Light Angst, Multi, Other, Past Issues, They just need some love your honour, drunk discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29135109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanimalew/pseuds/shanimalew
Summary: Illya, Gaby, and Napoleon celebrate their first year as a team with copious amounts of alcohol. Shenanigans and drunk revelations are of order.“Have you ever had sex with a man?” she asks, indulging this new phase of her drunkness.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Gaby Teller, Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo, Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo/Gaby Teller, Napoleon Solo/Gaby Teller
Comments: 13
Kudos: 53





	In vino veritas

The conversations are slipping away from her consciousness, as the night goes on and her glass refills itself over and over.

She knows her name and status, so she’s not that drunk, and she knows why they are drinking so much. 

They are celebrating! 

Twenty, twenty-something, successful missions together! Or maybe thirty…

Solo phrased it as celebrations for having survived an entire year without killing each other. 

She wishes it were a euphemism.

Gaby also understands what is happening around her, vaguely. She’s entered that stage of drunkenness where she knows and doesn’t know at the same time what is happening. She can hear Illya and Solo talk, partially understanding what they are saying, but that’s not her fault. Alcohol has taken a toll on them too, and now they are barely speaking a single language.

Illya has given up talking solely in one language a long time ago, when the giant bottle of vodka that the hotel clerk brought in was still half full, and now he’s speaking in a weird mix of his mother tongue and English. Why he hasn’t completely switched to Russian is a mystery to her, since he seems to have completely forgotten about her, his drunk focus entirely on Solo. 

Solo too has forgotten how to speak English, this thought never failing to make Gaby giggle to herself, adding another layer to her drunken status. She doesn’t know what language he is talking in, there are some English words and Russian ones but she thinks that the majority are pure inventions. Illya seems to understand him though, so she’s not going to spoil their fun.

It’s beautiful seeing them talking like civilised individuals. Well, sort of civilised, drunk Illya doesn’t have control of his volume. But they are not bickering, which for her is a great victory since it’s how they started the night off back at the restaurant, discussing the nearly ended mission, or specifically, what the other did wrong in this or that moment.

_ “You are terrible spy” _

_ “Don’t you ever get tired of repeating the same phrase, over and over?” _

_ “I will stop saying it when you stop being bad spy, Cowboy” _

You know, same old story. 

She can recite their discussions like those poems they make you learn at school. It’s their own personal form of flirting, she just wishes they’d stop at some point and move to the next phase: sucking each other's faces off.

Now that is a show she’d be willing to witness every day, instead of their continuous bickering.  And it wouldn’t hurt to be included in the mix. 

She giggles out loud at the image, her body feeling pleasantly warm and tingly. 

Only then she realises that the room is silent. She moves her gaze from where it was focused, which she isn’t sure where it was specifically, maybe the wall in front of her, and looks first at Solo, then at Illya.

“Okay?” Illya asks, his accent thick.

“Why you asking?” she slurs.

“Because you were laughing and talking to yourself,” Solo says, as he shakily gets up to refill his and Illya’s drinks.

Gaby extends her arm and shakes her now empty glass, smiling at him. Solo hesitates for a moment, but then he pours her some of the scotch.

“I think you should stop after this one,” he continues.

“You should stop too, I wouldn’t talk to myself if the two of you started talking in English. Or in a language I can understand”.

Illya has the decency to lower his gaze for a second, looking at his drink as if it holds the answer to all his problems.

“What were you thinking about that made you laugh so much?” Solo smirks, completely ignoring her complaint.

She doesn’t know whether to punch his smirk away or kiss it.

“Have you ever had sex with a man?” she asks instead, indulging this new phase of her drunkness.

She tries to maintain eye contact to catch any change in Solo’s expression, however, Illya choking on nothing distracts her from her task. She throws a knowing look towards Solo, then rushes to Illya’s side, gently patting his back.

“You okay?”

Illya just nods, eyes never meeting Solo’s. Gaby smirks wider at the American's laugh.

“Of course, although not as frequently. Life is too short to choose sides, especially in bed,” he says, winking at Illya as he dares looking at Solo.

The shocked expression the Russian makes is so funny, Gaby really hopes her drunk mind will remember it for years and years until they are old and full of wrinkles and she’s going to tell the story of tonight to everyone. 

The laugh dies on her lips at the implications of her thought, but she doesn’t have the time to dwell on it, as Solo continues to torture Illya.

“What about you, Peril? Have you ever had sex with a man?” he asks, eyes never leaving Illya’s.

Gaby doesn’t dare to move, her right hand unconsciously drawing relaxing patterns on Illya’s back.

“Niet,” Illya whispers, before drinking his scotch down.

“What about thinking about having sex with a man? Ever done that?” Solo continues, adjusting his position on the armchair and slightly opening his legs.

Her eyes are immediately drawn towards his crotch and, as she averts her gaze to cover her slip, she sees Solo smirk at Illya, then at her. Her hand stills as she realises what game he’s playing.

“I will not play your strange game, Solo,” Illya replies, straightening his back, but otherwise he doesn’t move a muscle.

Although Gaby can’t really see his face, she knows he’s looking at Solo defiantly, which screams everything but an unwillingness to play.

“What about you, Gaby?” Solo says, shifting his focus on her, “Want to play?”

“I never thought, nor had, sex with girls, if that’s what you are asking,” she promptly replies, aware of the fact that now she has the attention of both men.

“Ever wanted to?” he continues, sipping his drink.

Solo is too calm and composed for her taste, while on the contrary, she feels herself burn as the seconds pass.

“Not really. I love cocks too much”.

Only as the words leave her mouth, her mind starts to properly process them.

Now she has absolute certainty that she’s completely drunk because there’s no way she would have said those words, out loud, to her work partners, while subconsciously playing with the hair on Illya’s nape, if she were sober. 

If her words didn’t advertise her desires to them, surely her gesture did; and indeed their expressions of shock and amusement confirm that she indeed said what she thought she’d said and they perfectly heard her. 

She refrains to groan loudly instead, she holds Solo’s gaze. She knows he can read her easily and she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction to think he has the reins of whatever it is they’re doing.

“Well, that is interesting information to know, don’t you think, Peril?”

Gaby feels Illya’s body tense under her touch, like a spring ready to snap. She doesn’t know if touching him will help him calm down, but still, she keeps playing with his hair, giving her something other than her own thoughts to focus on.

“Told I do not want to play whatever game you want to”.

“Why?”

“It is unprofessional. You are unprofessional, and drunk,” he says, getting up to refill his drink.

Gaby’s hand falls hard on the back of the armchair and suddenly, she feels very tired.  So she leaves her position and goes to sit back into her own chair, falling gracelessly with a loud thud, and waits for Solo’s next move. 

If chess were this interesting, she’d be a master by now.

“We’re all drunk, that’s why we’re having this conversation,” Solo says. 

He gets up to get another drink, standing shoulder to shoulder with Illya who, at the first contact with Solo’s shoulder, bolts, sitting back on his armchair. Solo doesn’t say anything, but it's not difficult to imagine that he’s smiling at the other man’s gesture.

“Well, technically we have not addressed it directly. We’re running around it like kids chasing each other on those spinning things in parks...how are they called?” Gaby says.

Her attention immediately shifts to her metaphor, as her drunk mind tries really hard to think of that thing's name. Sometimes English is just so damn difficult.

“Naming it doesn’t change the fact that Peril here doesn’t want to talk about it”.

Solo’s voice wakes Gaby from thoughts, bringing her back to the conversation.

“Who knows, maybe putting all the cards on the table might help you win him,” she replies, shaking her empty glass in Illya’s direction, “Darling, can you give me some more scotch? All your bickering made me sober, and I miss not understanding a thing you both are saying”.

Illya just nods, appreciating the distraction, and immediately gets up. Solo snorts.

“You know, you can just say that you don’t like me-men. Nothing’s gonna change, this is just drunken discussions,” Solo says.

At the slip, Gaby rolls her eyes. Because of course those two can’t just talk straight and then they have to create a castle of bullshit out of nothing.

“Children,” she scoffs, accepting her newly filled glass, “The day either of you clearly expresses what is on your stupid brains is the day Hell is going to freeze”

“According to Dante’s ‘Divine Comedy’ part of Hell is already frozen, so the metaphor doesn’t really hold,” Solo replies, earning himself the dirtiest glance drunk Gaby could master.

“What you mean? I am always honest,” Illya says, shifting the conversation back to the topic that really mattered.

Gott, Gaby really wants to kick Solo’s refined ass until the sun rises and he learns to stop trying so hard to be the sophisticated one.

“Then why wouldn’t you answer the question?” she says, enjoying the betrayal on Illya’s face, “I have no problem saying I am attracted to both of you. What about you, Solo?”

“Me? I am a man that appreciates art, of course I am attracted to you two”.

“What is point of saying it?” Illya cuts in, voice booming in Solo’s big room, “That is what is wrong with you, you never think forward. You like children”.

Gaby and Solo’s faces drop at the sound of Illya’s voice, whatever drunken banter they had in them dies at the wild, almost scared, tone.

“What does it matter if we admit it?” he continues, “You can admit it, Solo can admit it. And I will too, fine. Let all admit it, then what? We still very much drunk and still professionals working together. So I ask you two, what is point?”

Gaby finishes her drink fast and puts the glass down on the small table near her chair, making a dangerous clicking sound as it hits the wood. She rushes towards Illya, or at least she feels like she’s moving fast, she doesn’t really have control over her body, and takes his hands in hers, eyes looking straight into his.

“The point is to see if we are on the same page, and then, maybe, do something about it,” she says, briefly glancing at Solo.

“Do something about it? Like what, have sex? Do you want to have a three-us thing and then forget about it?”

“It’s called a threesome, Peril,” Solo interjects.

Gaby's desire to kick his ass increases as she looks at Illya, who is watching Solo with an unfocused gaze.

“I was thinking of something more romantic, like a date night, the three of us,” Gaby says, hoping her admission distracts them and avoids starting a potential petty discussion.

She feels her cheeks heat up, as the weight of her words falls upon all of them. She hates this, exposing her thoughts. Feeling vulnerable.

“Date? All three of us?” Illya says, letting go of Gaby’s hands, “You, you both want to have sex with me? And date me?”

He doesn't wait for an answer as he starts laughing, which is concerning for Illya. Gaby doesn’t think she’s ever heard him laugh in the entire year they’ve been working together.

His laugh is loud, and wet, from the alcohol or potential unshed tears, she doesn’t know. But it’s unsettling.

He turns away from them, shoulders shaking as if having heard the most hilarious joke ever.

They don’t know what to do, she's not sober enough to be able to intervene as usual. A pity, as she has developed a very effective strategy to calm him down.

“That is fun, really. I needed such laugh, thank you,” he finally says, finishing his drink. 

Still, he avoids their gazes.

“It wasn’t a joke. We are serious,” Solo says, his body wanting to get closer to Illya. However, his judgment is faster, abruptly blocking his movements, and making him do a strange spasm on the spot.

It’s always like this with Illya. Everything’s fine until something snaps in him, and you find yourself walking a line, looking out for every step, afraid of falling, afraid of the moment his eyes get blank and nothing else matters.

So they wait, like mice in their dens. But the usual fury that accompanies Illya’s blank stare doesn’t arrive.

He gets misty-eyed, but never completely unfocused. His hands tremble slightly as he puts down his glass, but there’s no tapping.

“You know my file. So it must be joke. No one wants to be with me, especially when they know what I am”.

“Peril…” Solo starts, finally daring to take a step towards Illya. When the man doesn’t flinch, he takes another step, “Our files are not that different, this job requires us to make some difficult decisions. No judging here”.

“We are not same. You are charming man, although your taste in fashion is debatable and Gaby is very strong, very beautiful woman”.

“And what about you?” Gaby asks, finding herself anxious about his answer.

“I am machine. Red Peril,” he immediately replies.

Gaby swears she can hear her heart break at Illya's words, or maybe it was just the sound of Solo’s knuckles cracking as he closes his fingers into a fist. Maybe it’s the same sound.

“Doctors studied me, since I was small child. I know what they say about me, and I know it is true. You have seen what I can do. I scare you”.

Gaby and Solo open their mouths to object, but Illya promptly raises his hand, hushing them.

“I do, but it is okay. I am grateful to have your respect, it is nice to work with people who do not try to kill you while on mission”.

“Fuck Per-Illya,” Solo says, immediately correcting himself, unsure whether or not his playful nickname is right for the moment. 

His mind briefly indulges on the taste of Illya’s name on his tongue. It’s strange, but at the same time right. He hopes he will have the opportunity to use it more, to find it at home in his mouth, just like it already is in his heart.

“Your standards are so low. You don’t scare us, you idiot. We care about you,” he continues.

“Yes! Yes, we do,'' Gaby says, startling herself with how loud her voice is, “You are an amazing agent and a kind man. I’ve never felt safer than when I was with you, even in Rome, when I barely knew you”

“I was not fishing for compliments. Good agents must know what are their strengths and weaknesses”.

Solo groans, turning away from Illya and letting his body fall on his armchair.

“I’m too drunk to try and talk some sense into you. Believe what you want, I’m still going to think about you pinning me to the nearest wall and fucking me until I forget my own name. Or vice versa. It usually depends on how I wake up, to be honest,” he says nonchalantly, enjoying how red Illya’s neck becomes.

“I...Y-You,” Illya starts, taken aback by Solo’s devilish smile, “You have no decency”, he finally manages to say, after having opened and closed his mouth a couple of times.

Gaby would laugh at him if she too wasn't struggling to focus on anything other than the image of Illya pinning Solo to a wall.

“Oh, are we discussing our sexual fantasies now? Because I have some nice ones I think you perverts will enjoy,” Gaby says, trying to shake herself from the image.

She hops towards Solo and lays on his lap. As she stretches her legs, ankles resting on the armrest, her dress, which is already obscenely short, falls even more, leaving most of her thigh open to the cold air.

Gaby witnesses the death of Illya's brain, his blush spreading even more. It gets even worse, as Solo puts in hand on Gaby’s thigh. The sight of his hand almost covering her entire thigh, slightly squeezing it, leaves Gaby, and she suspects also Illya, breathless. 

The Russian bites his lip, ashamed of the small whine that escapes his throat, while Gaby's mouth slightly opens, heat immediately rushing south.

“What about you, Peril, want to share some of your fantasies?” Gaby says, voice thick as honey.

She sees Illya’s internal struggle, as a frown appears on his face, gaze becoming empty.

It’s somewhat comical how easily readable he is, but that’s the dichotomy of Illya Kuryakin. A man in an ongoing battle between being one of the best spies in the whole world and being himself.

She knows she’s lucky, because as much as she and Solo like to mock him, they know he’s a brilliant spy. So the fact that he allows them to read him like an open book is huge, maybe even more than the earlier admission.  She’s not surprised when she sees his eyes getting wet, his perfectly calm mask slowly crumbling. Her heart clenches.

She is about to get up and comfort him again, but he immediately raises his hand, turning around.

“I cannot…" he says, words struggling to leave his throat, "I will not hurt you. I cannot do this, please".

He lets out a shaky breath and starts to walk towards the bedroom, arms extended in front of him. He walks slowly, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, ignoring the increasing ringing of his ears.  He reaches the bed, letting his body fall with a sound thump.

Gaby watches him from her position, his head falling into his hands. He feels distant, lost in the chaos of his mind.  She decides not to wait a moment longer and gets up, extending her hand to Solo, who takes it wordlessly.

They sit at his sides and when he doesn’t react, Solo touches his shoulder, throwing a scared look at Gaby.

She mouths. ‘Talk to him’.

“You okay, buddy?” Solo asks.

“I cannot see” Illya mumbles, face still hidden.

Solo laughs.

“I think we’ve had too much to drink tonight, but that’s nothing a good night of sleep can’t fix,” he says, thumb drawing circles on Illya’s shoulder.

“I apologize for my behaviour,” Illya says, now feeling also the weight of Gaby’s head resting on his other shoulder. “This is heaven” he murmurs, more to himself than to them.

“You are not going to hurt us, Illya. Nothing bad is going to happen if you let yourself be happy, God knows you’ve earned it. We are going to care about you anyway, whether you let us close or not, might as well enjoy it,” Gaby says, shifting her head to dare to leave a kiss on Illya’s neck.

She feels him shudder a bit under her touch, goosebumps all around her lips. She smiles against his skin, and closes her eyes, cherishing this rare moment in which Illya Kuryakin let someone close to him. Body, mind, and heart.

“You’ve never hurt us in this year together, what makes you think you will do it now?” Solo continues, smiling when Illya decides to leave his hand nest, although still not facing them. 

Nevertheless, it’s progress.

“I was raised to destroy, not love. Especially not love people like you,” Illya starts, mouth curving into something close to a smile when he hears both Solo and Gaby chuckle, “I do not know if I am able to”.

“Everyone that I dared to love died. I don’t know if I’m able to open up to someone without fearing they will eventually leave me, but I’m willing to try this if you are too. It may have started as a joke but it feels more than a meaningless threesome to me” Solo murmurs, eyes fixed in front of him, although his hand never leaves Illya’s shoulder.

Now that he has allowed himself such an intimate gesture, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to stop touching Illya. He blushes at the thought, feeling like a teenager in love, which he is not, and never was, not really. War doesn’t allow people to experience life, and especially love, in a normal way.

“After a life of being constantly abandoned, I always thought that I was too much of a fucked-up to have a meaningful relationship with someone,” Gaby adds, words struggling to get out, “What a trio of losers, aren't’ we?”.

She chuckles to herself but it quickly morphs into a sob when Illya takes her hand, intertwining their fingers.

Solo opens his mouth, ready to deliver the right witty comment to diffuse the situation, but he’s stopped when he feels Illya’s other hand holding his. He looks at Illya’s shoulder, where indeed their hands are resting together, he’s not imagining it, and closes his mouth, brain frozen.

“I appreciate your words. But am too tired to think correct answer in English. Let us sleep on it and tomorrow we talk, is that good?” Illya asks, finally raising his head.

Firstly he looks at Gaby, who just smiles at him and nods. A tear escapes her misty eyes and he promptly frees his hand to catch it with his thumb.

“You are a disgrace to your motherland for how badly you hold your liquor, Peril,” Solo says, and, when Illya only looks at him with watery but still stern eyes, he adds “Do you need verbal confirmation? Fine, yes, of course we can talk about it tomorrow. Now go sleep, you giant toddler”.

“No. We all sleep. Here. Together”.

He starts undressing, leaving them no time to process the information. His shoes make a thump as they fall on the ground, followed by his jacket, trousers, and then shirt, leaving him in his underwear and undershirt. He climbs the bed and positions himself in the middle. 

When he sees that the others haven’t followed him, he pats his sides, trying to look menacing, or as menacing as possible for a man whose eyes are slowly closing with each passing moment.

Solo laughs, but starts undressing immediately, mumbling about ‘crazy Russians with beautiful legs’.

Gaby, instead, stays at the foot of the bed, looking at her two men in their underwear arguing on whose arm is going around whose shoulder. She snorts at how ridiculous they are and slowly takes her clothes off, ignoring how they immediately fall silent.

_ Men… _

Before settling down in Illya’s arms, she takes a moment to admire them. Solo has caved in, resting on his side so he can better hug Illya’s middle, which gives her a good view of his magnificent ass and of Illya’s abdomen, as she has learned that he apparently wears his underwear quite low, or maybe it is due to all the wrestling from before. Either way, she doesn’t complain.

She bites her lip, indulging her horny drunken state for a moment longer, then she sighs and crawls towards Illya.

“I’m so horny,” she murmurs, adjusting herself against the Russian, hand sprawled on his abdomen, “Tonight we sleep but tomorrow we have sex, okay?”

“Yes ma’am” both Illya and Solo say, trying to sound serious, but Gaby can hear the smile in their voices. 

Her mouth automatically moves upwards and she’s happy that Solo turned off the lights, so the darkness can hide how smitten she is for these two.

She closes her eyes and, for the first time in who knows how long, she falls asleep instantly, lulled by Illya and Solo’s soft snores, wishing for many more nights in the arms of her men.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this story, leave kudos and comments if you did! I may or may not have started working on a spicy sequel..let me know in the comments if it's something you'd be interested in. I, for one, am so excited to write it.  
> You can also find me on [Tumblr](https://shanimalew.tumblr.com/), if you want to talk more about these 3 idiots in love.


End file.
